


obedience

by trilliananders



Category: We Have Always Lived in the Castle (2019)
Genre: F/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliananders/pseuds/trilliananders
Summary: left caring for your grandfather after the death of your parents you lay in wait for his own death when you’ll finally be free from blackwood men and your expected submission for good. but when charles blackwood shows up on your doorstep all of those dreams are shattered. after all, it was another blackwood house, with another blackwood fortune to be won
Relationships: Charles Blackwood/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	1. obedient

It was a fortress made of stone, vines hugged its surface and moss slept between its bricks. Dewey. Fresh from the morning a thick fog has just lifted from the air revealing the monstrosity of old English architecture. Well kept and pruned for aesthetic. It came from old money, as well as extortion and bribery. That was what the Blackwoods were known for and that is why they were, for the most part, heavily ignored.

The large well oiled dark cherry wood door stood foreboding at the end of a long graveled drive surrounded by lush green foliage. It was the promise of something heavy and dark that rested behind it, the wood straining to keep the plumes of dark heavy secrets from spilling out onto the lawn. The door seldom opened, and with that began the slight rusting of its hinges. Welding it shut for good.

It was always quiet with a soft sound from the parlor coming from an old record much beloved and well played. Its only competition the crackling fire that was set with care nightly to warm the old bones of the house. This house was the one you were raised in. The walls held your childhood laughter and cries in its cracks. The floor, well oiled and kept, the sounds of leather soled shoes, echoes of a home that used to hold a family.

You silently cut a grapefruit in half at the kitchen counter; your grandfather hands gnarled with age held a newspaper between them waiting for his breakfast. Two soft boiled eggs, two pieces of toast, one half of a grapefruit, and a cup of coffee black as ink and just as thick. The cup sat steaming in front of him in preparation for the rest of his meal. The kitchen was the hub of where the two of you functioned. His old bones not allowing him much movement, he read his paper there, ate his breakfast, checked his ledger, and read some passages from his well worn King James Version Bible before being requested to be moved to his study. By the time all this was settled it was just about time to start preparing lunch.

Grandfather Blackwood could no longer taste, and the char on his toast was what he most looked forward to as you placed it in front of him. It wasn’t long after that you rested opposite, watching him pour salt on his freshly shelled eggs while you spooned oatmeal into your own mouth. It wasn’t unusual for him to not speak a word for the first few hours of the day, but today was different. The silence ended almost immediately.

“Your cousins, Mary Katherine Blackwood,” a pause to wet his throat, “and Constance Blackwood, have been the unfortunate victims of a house fire, and your Uncle Julian has passed as a result.” You remembered these cousins from your youth. When your parents were still alive. It wasn’t uncommon for them to visit for holidays, birthdays, and the occasional dinner party. A chill went down your spine and you lifted your own cup of coffee to sip as you took pause and thought of a reply. You always had to rehearse a reply.

“That is unfortunate Grandfather,” you rested the cup back on the lace tablecloth, “Is there anything we could do to help?” You thought of the safe in his study. Silver and gold, deeds and stocks. Jewels. The Blackwoods never trusted banks.

“No, they should be fine on their own.” He set his paper beside him, a black and white heavily inked picture of a half burned house stared back at her. Those poor girls.

It was no secret between the family that Merricat had poisoned everyone. Had you been present you were sure you’d have gone too. Fortunately for your Grandfather he took no sugar in his coffee. Unfortunately for your parents, they did. You couldn’t blame her. When your parents had passed you almost felt relieved in a sense. Grandfather was too old to properly punish you as your father had loved to do. He too shall soon pass and then it would only be you, left in this offender of a house where you’re confident that you would grow old and grey in peace. Having gone mad with loneliness. You could hope anyway.

It wasn’t long before you were clearing the breakfast dishes and wiping the crumbs from in front of Grandfather before he brought the thick leather ledger from beside him, cracking the spine open to gaze upon a list of names and amounts that were no business of yours. Your stomach turned while you absentmindedly watched those twisted knuckles turn the pages as he looked upon debts that would never get repaid. Debts owed to him. You knew when he went to his study he would choose one person to harass for the day. One person he could squeeze some money out of to add to the fortune you’d already possessed.

Grandfather Blackwood was blessed with three sons. All three had been heavily invested in investing, conning, and swindling people out of money. It was the family business after all.

The counter was wiped, dishes set out to dry. You picked up an old rag and the Murphy’s Oil Soap and began the bi-weekly task of dusting the many wood frames of the house. Windows, doors, ending with the floors. Grandfather would be at the table for at least two hours scouring the ledger and then his Bible. Just enough time to do the bottom floor. The top floor would wait until after lunch when Grandfather took his nap in his bedroom which resided across from his study.

There was a thick feeling in the air since the news of the fire and you felt it. Something didn’t sit right with you. A tension that wouldn’t break. A sense of something coming. It chilled you to your toes, and as you knelt on the hardwood floor, a towel bunched under your knees to relieve the pressure, hands carefully working the oil into the wood your arms broke out in goosebumps. A knock came to the door.

The front door hadn’t been opened in over a year. Groceries were delivered by messenger to the back door once a week, but he knew to go around back so it couldn’t have been him. There was no other reason for someone to come here. The first knock was sturdy, loud, and echoed around the foyer. The second one was deafening.

“Answer the door!” Yelled Grandfather from his spot at the kitchen table. You shakily stood to your feet, wiping your hands on the apron around your waist, smoothing the wrinkles out on your skirt. The only sound were your heels clicking softly on the still damp floor as you reached the front door, interrupting the third and loudest series of knocks as you carefully and slowly pried the door open, its hinges screaming in protest.

The man who stood on the other side, you knew, was the reason for the churning in your stomach. The tension that wrapped itself around your throat as you found it hard to speak. He was handsome. Strong jawline, bright blue eyes. Disarming eyes. His fist was mid knock when you opened the door, it now fell to his side as a charming smile overtook his face. “Cousin Y/N,” his voice was rasped and buttery, “So good to see you, now, you might not remember me, I’m your cousin Charles…” He shuffled from one foot to the other one, leaning his arm against the door jam. “I’ve come to check on my Uncle, is he in?” From behind you a shout could be heard.

“Who is it?”

Your tongue sat heavy in your mouth, you somehow unstuck it, “Come in, I’ll grab him for you.” You shifted aside to allow Charles in and as he passed you, placed his hands in his pant pockets, spinning on his heels to admire the foyer. The door shut with great unease, the hinges once again screaming in disuse. “If you’ll just wait in the parlor,” You motioned to your right, the great archway freshly polished shined with the reflection of the natural light. He walked in to take his place inside and seemed to admire the green and pink floral wallpaper your mother had shipped directly from France.

Grandfather began to yell once more in question as you entered the kitchen, “It’s cousin Charles, Grandfather,” you walked around him to place your hands on the back of his wheelchair. “He says he’s come to visit you.”

“Ah! My youngest sister’s son. Yes, very well.” He rested his hands in his lap as you removed him from the table, steering him into the parlor where Charles was closing the lid to an ornate silver jar, turning to face the two of you. The ease in which Charles greeted your Grandfather was unsettling to say the least. He was charming and deliberate in the way he spoke. As charming as a snake oil salesman and from what you could tell just as greasy. “Grab us some tea, Y/N.” It was a demand. That’s all you get. Demands.

As you brought the tray out to the two of them, you found them sitting closely in the parlor. Charles sitting on the edge of his seat, facing Grandfather in interest as he spoke about his Mother’s death and the fire at John Blackwood’s home. You quietly poured their two cups, handing your Grandfather his and proceeding to hand Charles his respective cup.

“Two sugars darling,” he spoke to you before returning to his previous conversation. You bristled with the demand. You didn’t know this man from Adam and here he was already adapting to how your Grandfather treated you. He was a Blackwood after all, it shouldn’t be surprising, but you found yourself angrily placing two cubes of sugar in his cup, before stirring it for him, then handing it back. His eyes met yours this time as he smiled and sipped from his cup. A victor’s smile. A, wasn’t that easy, smile. An, I’ll fit right in here, smile. You’ve never wanted to smack someone so badly.

“It’s just a visit,” you whispered to yourself as you resumed your chores, “He’ll be gone soon.”

The jovial conversation in the parlor continued for an hour or so, continuing into the kitchen as you heated leftover soup on the stove top.

“That smells delicious Y/N.” Charles said with a smile, he sat your Grandfather at the head of the kitchenette.

“Thank you.” His grin stretched further.

“Charles will be staying with us for a while Y/N, I’ll need you to make up a guest room for him after lunch.” A lump formed in your throat.

“Yes Grandfather.” As the soup reached a scalding temperature you watched Charles take the seat to your Grandfather’s right. It was a routine that he was throwing a wrench into. A third party, a talkative third party.

“Do you have any iced tea darling?” A shiver went down your spine, “I would love a glass of iced tea.” You turned to him with a forced smile.

“Of course,” grabbing three glasses from the cupboard you poured from the pitcher kept in the fridge, setting them down in front of your Grandfather, your guest, and one in front of your own place at the table. Soup was soon poured into three portions, a little extra on the stove top if anyone wanted seconds. Oyster crackers served on the side.

Charles sat opposite of you, and while he talked to your Grandfather of business deals of his own that he was very proud of he suddenly shifted his gaze onto you. “Tomorrow, I’ll fix the front door for you, would you like that?” You looked up from concentrating hard on drowning an oyster cracker in your soup. Your Grandfather’s gaze moved to you as well.

“That would be splendid, Thank you Charles.” It was the response that was expected of you. Though you didn’t care if that door shut behind him and never opened again. There was something about him that reminded you of your father, that’s it. And as he smiled at you once more, turning his face down to grin into his soup he lifted a hearty spoonful and took another bite.

“This soup is fantastic darling, what were you planning for dinner?”

“Oh we have that pork shoulder she could roast.” Grandfather chimed in.

“That would be great, maybe some potatoes and sweet carrots too.” It was hard to swallow the sip you’ve taken out of your tea to stall your answer.

“Of course, Grandfather.” You forced a smile, “I’ll get started on it after I set up Charles’ room.” He gruffly nodded and continued to finish his soup. Without word you grabbed the bowl from him, going to the stove to ladle in half a cup more before returning to your seat.

“I’ll take some as well darling.” Of course you will Charles. You smiled and took the bowl from in front of him debating on whether or not tripping and spilling it on his lap as you return would be too abhorrent. It wasn’t long after that you were left cleaning up the kitchen and the tea that had been left in the parlor. Charles had kindly helped the old man down to rest for his afternoon nap before joining you back in the kitchen.

“So,” he started, “Anything else needing a man’s touch around here?” He paused for effect, you knew, “Anything need fixing?” He stood to your left, back leaning against the counter as you finished washing the bowls.

“Everything is mostly in repair.” You spoke quietly, Grandfather had ears like a bat and would not do with being disturbed during his nap. “Maybe a couple of loose balusters going up the stairs.” He nodded, crossing his arms.

“I’ll be sure to work on those next.” He shifted a little closer. “You’re very beautiful, do you know that?” You paused in your scrubbing, shifting your eyes to look over at his suddenly serious face. “I know you don’t go into town often, but if you ever wanted to, I could keep those boys at bay.” His hand placed itself on your wrist, thumb stroking the inside softly and he lowered his voice an octave, “I could protect you.”

There it was again, that tension. Something brewing in the pit of your stomach that made you uneasy. A sensation not known to you. A foreign invader in your gut.

“I can’t leave Grandfather.” You said quietly, taking your arm gently back from his old before draining the sink. “If you’d like to grab your suitcase from your car, I can have your bedroom ready in a few minutes.” With that you left, going up to prepare his room as quickly as you can. Anything to get him preoccupied with something else, and relieve this strange feeling.

It felt like too soon when the three of you now sat at the dining room table. Sweet roast pork, savory roasted potatoes and carrots around it, wine in each glass and a cake sitting just off to the side. A guest was a special occasion that called for cake. Your Grandfather insisted.

“Have you ever been to Venice, Y/N?” Charles began conversation as you cut your Grandfather’s food into manageable pieces.

“No, I can’t say I have.” You breathed a sigh, placing your Grandfather’s knife back onto the table and handing him his fork. “This branch of Blackwoods never saw much in travelling outside of America.” He smiled and nodded.

“Of course,” He said, “Constance and Mary Katherine said the same. I simply have forgotten.” You sipped your wine.

“Have you visited them recently?” Conversation finally sparked with concern for your not so distant cousins. Absentmindedly Charles reached for the back of his head, rubbing a spot before returning his hand back to his lap, wiping it on his napkin.

“Just before the fire luckily,” He forked a mouthful of pork into his mouth, “I had left just before then, those poor girls, such a shame to hear about Julian.” You nodded in agreement.

“Yes, it is.” Charles watched you as you turned to Grandfather, engrossed in eating his meal, napkin tucked tightly into his shirt, dribbles of sauce staining it. You dabbed the corners of his mouth before he resumed eating.

“Those girls were always trouble,” Grandfather stated as fact. “I always told John if they could be anywhere near as obedient as our Y/N here they would have been better off.” It gave you a sick sense of pride knowing you were seen as better in your Grandfather’s eyes, but it quickly settled as tar in your stomach. Constance was plenty obedient. Mary Katherine was sweet and docile, strange but so. It wasn’t fair to them that they are put in this bad light. If only Grandfather had taken sugar. Charles seemed to enjoy this fact shared by Grandfather. His eyes turning back to you.

“I can tell.”

After dinner, Grandfather always takes a brandy in the parlor and Charles was happy to join him. Routine led to you drawing a bath for your Grandfather before helping him bathe and laying him down to rest for the evening with the hope that tonight will be the night that he finally goes. The house was silent aside from the fire that was crackling downstairs, burning out slowly and heating the house. It was then that you found yourself face to face with Charles in the dark entryway, just before the stairs leading up to your rooms.

“I’ll take a bath before bed.” He started up the stairs.

“Goodnight Charles.” You turned to make your way into the parlor, enjoying the little embers of heat from what’s left.

“You’re not going to draw it for me?” He asked, paused midway up the stairs. You turned to look up at him, mouth opening, then closing.

“Grandfather can’t, so I do it. You are more than capable.” He chuckled to himself, placing his hands on the railing.

“You’re supposed to, aren’t you?” He looked down upon you from his high standing before slowly descending the steps. “He’s leaving it all to me, you know?” He licked his lips. “The money, the house, and everything inside it.” Including you. That’s what he didn’t add. Your heart sunk into the pit of your stomach.

“You don’t know that.” You said, watching him come closer.

“Oh, but I do.” He finally reached the bottom, taking casual steps closer and closer. “You know that the only reason you were getting all of this was simply because he didn’t have a son to leave it to.” You were shivering, suddenly very cold. His hands came to rest on your upper arms, pulling you a breath away from him. “I solved that problem for him, so if I were you,” His hand grazed up your arm, coming to rest underneath your chin, lifting your face to look at him, “I would draw my bath.” To emphasize his point he tightened his grip slightly on your chin before releasing you.

You knew what kind of punishment you’ve endured in the past. The punishment for disobedience. Grandfather could no longer dole out this punishment, but here was a man before you, young, strong, healthy. He most certainly could punish you. He could hurt you. If there was one thing you knew growing up inside this house, inside this family, were skills of self-preservation. You wished you had the guts Merricat had when she poisoned them, but that was not something in your wheelhouse.

You quietly stepped back from him, letting his eyes watch you as you moved to pass him, slowly walking up the staircase and into the bathroom connected to his bedroom. A minute or two passed before you heard him enter his room, shuffling through his suitcase as you turned the taps.

“I have a few shirts that need mending as well, I’ve left them on my bed for you.” You felt yourself nod as you stared at the steamy water pouring from the taps, sitting on the lip of the tub, and willing them to fill the tub more quickly. You could feel him standing behind you, long before his hands came to rest on your shoulders. “You’re such a good girl Y/N.” He leaned over to press his lips to the skin of your shoulder. “Thank you for this.” Another kiss, right where your neck met your shoulder. You quickly shut the taps off, standing and he let his hands fall from your shoulders, watching as you left the room.

As you lay in bed that night you couldn’t help but pray that something would take them both. Something quick that would come in the night and steal their breath so they wouldn’t wake to torment you tomorrow. But that was a little too much to ask.

It wasn’t long after that it became a routine. Your world used to solely rely on taking care of your Grandfather, and now with this new addition you catered to Charles as well.

“We are going to have to add a few things to our grocery list for this upcoming week Jacob.” The young boy placed the groceries safely on the counter, the two paper bags full and bursting with fresh fruit and vegetables, a whole chicken, a few tenderloins of beef, and lamb that Charles had requested added on at the last minute. You handed him a slip of paper with the new updated order that would be for next week, a few items you weren’t used to ordering tacked onto the bottom that Charles wanted from you. The teenage boy nodded and slipped the paper into his pocket,

“Not a problem Miss Blackwood.” The boy’s mother cared for you once. Back when you were a child, she was your live in nanny. His family was the only one willing to bring groceries up to the house after your parents passed and you could no longer leave Grandfather alone. You dug some silver pieces out of your purse, handing them over to the boy with a smile.

“Darling, what are you doing?” Charles voice rung out from the doorway. You turned to look upon him, in his white clean shirt you had just mended and khaki slacks, hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze settled on the boy. “Are you taking advantage of her?” His finger came out and pointed at Jacob accusingly.

“Charles I-”

“No Y/N,” He walked over to the boy, taking a few of the silver pieces back, “That is more than enough to pay him and pay for the groceries.” He turned to Jacob, “Son you should leave.”

“Charles, he comes all this way-” He stopped you with a look, tucking the silver pieces into his pocket.

“And we thank him for that, but we don’t need to pay his parent’s mortgage.” You looked at Jacob with an apologetic smile, the boy leaving the house and continuing on his way. The kitchen was silent for a moment more before you turned to begin putting the groceries away. “Y/N.” His hand firmly gripped your upper arm, turning you back to face him. “Is this what you’ve been doing with the money that isn’t even yours?” His voice was tense. You bristled with anger.

“That money-”

“Is not yours.” He stated firmly. A chill ran down your spine, settling somewhere in your lower tummy. His clear blue eyes caught yours, deadlocked. “I will be handling the delivery from now on, you write the list and I’ll handle the rest, you understand?” His grip tightened, hard, a gasp left your mouth as he pulled you to press up against him. “Do you understand?”

“Yes Charles.” He took a deep breath through his nose, loosening his grip slightly on your arm before dragging his hand down to take it in his own.

“I care about you darling, you know that right?” His fingers interlaced with yours, bringing your hand to his lips. “I’m going to take care of you, but I can’t take care of you if you make mistakes like that. Do you understand?” You nodded and he brought your bodies closer, moving you so the counter dug into your back and you could feel the length of him hot through your dress. It was shocking.

He took gentle liberties with you in the past few days, but this was the farthest he’s gone in a sexual advance. A kiss on your neck here or there, a gentle caress of your shoulders, arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you were preparing dinner, but nothing was as close as the length of his dick that was now pressed firmly into your belly. You could practically feel him throbbing. He took your hand that was laced with his and dropped it between you, pressing your fingertips into his hard length, groaning softly with the contact. Your breath hitched, and a dull throb began between your legs as his eyes stay connected with yours.

“You’re going to take care of me because I’m taking care of you, right?” He pressed his dick more firmly into your hand. You could feel your body shake in fear. You were no stranger to sex, you’ve read many books containing the act, a couple with pictures even. You knew what he was asking of you and it made you very afraid, uncomfortable, and nervous. His hand reached for his zipper, slowly sliding it down before unbuttoning his slacks, letting them fall to his ankles. The only thing between you and his weeping erection were thin cotton boxer shorts, a damp patch already breaking out on the fabric. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head up as he ground his dick into your open palm.

Eyes hooded and pupils blown wide his thumb met your bottom lip, prying your mouth open before bringing his lips to yours. You didn’t know what to do, his mouth was hot and needy on yours, tongue swiping to graze yours before retreating, hand going to tug on the strands of your hair, tilting your head back further as he devoured you. Your body moved on its own accord. This had never happened before, and while you were scared a dampness began to grow between your legs with his assault. Your fear of him kept you complacent, your lust kept you present. His lips parted from yours, a breath away.

“On your knees.” A not so gentle press to your shoulder and that’s where you found yourself, kneeling on the tile floor of the kitchen, skirts pooled around you, and Charles hand fisting his cock out of the slit of his boxers and an inch from your lips. It was daunting when he wrapped your fingers around his length, the tips of your fingers just barely meeting, the long length of him veined with his tip red and a drop of precum pooled at the slit. His hand met your lips again, parting them, “Open.” Was his stern command. You complied.

As his other hand found your hair, bunching it up behind your head, you tasted salt on your tongue. He slowly began to introduce the length of him inside your mouth, dragging the spongy tip against your tongue. His body was tense, a low groan leaving his lips as he went as far as to make you gag before retreating out. 

“Suck kitten.” 

Another command, hand coming up to meet your mouth as you quickly worked your tongue over him. You could feel the wetness pool between your thighs, growing sticky and uncomfortable. He began thrusting his hips into your open mouth, knocking your hand from him and using the hand twisted into your hair to fuck your mouth onto his cock. Eyes watering and drool spilling from your mouth to the tops of your breasts he fucked himself into your throat making you gag around him.

“Such a good girl kitten,” He praised.

A little bit of you, some sick little part of your soul preened with his praise. He thrust more of himself down your throat, burying your nose against the dark curls around his base. You couldn’t breathe, throat contracting, eyes watering, gagging around the length of him shoved down your throat farther than you even knew was possible, hands coming to smack against his hips. Black spots began to dance around your vision before he released you, letting you cough thick saliva onto the floor next to you before bringing your open mouth back to his dick, thrusting sloppily as he chased his release. It wasn’t long after that he found it, shooting thick tangy cum on your tongue, hand coming up to grip your throat and instructing you to swallow. You looked a mess. Your once perfectly pinned and curled hair lay a mess around your shoulders, mascara in streams down your face, a mix of drool and some splashes of cum lay over the tops of your breasts and dress. Charles brought his lips to yours once more. It was filthy and only caused the junction between your thighs to begin to drip down your leg. He pulled his face back from yours, still keeping a steady grip on your jaw.

“Go get cleaned up for dinner.”


	2. subservient

There was a demon behind those eyes. Those blue eyes that looked into your very soul. They taunted you. There was evil and greed in his movements. The ferocity in which he carved the whole chicken, the practiced sawing of the knife carving through flesh you imagined as yours. He was going to eat you alive. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. His suit tonight was a dark blue paired with a cornflower yellow shirt, the ring he wore on his left hand catching the light, freshly polished this morning by your own two hands. That same ring had been tangled in your hair not more than an hour ago, his tang still on your tongue despite the heavy brushing you had done. 

The chicken tasted of sawdust. 

The devil across from you was grinning, cutting his chicken into pieces, swallowing them down into his gullet, washing it down with wine. Grandfather’s eating was sloppier this evening, hands shaking, he’s dropped his fork three times. 

“Y/N!” He’s dropped it again, fussing until you’ve replaced it. 

“Uncle, I think it would be best if you’ve got a little more rest this evening, maybe that would help with your current condition.” Charles spoke carefully, suggestively. Grandfather smacks his lips, mouth dry. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” The old man sat back in his chair, looking upon you. “I think after dinner I’ll take my bath and go to bed. Perhaps I’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” You agreed. There’s a small hope that this early rest would allow you some early rest as well, but the Cheshire grin Charles currently was sporting quickly snuffed out that hope. 

The fire was lit in the parlor. Charles lounging back in Grandfather’s chair, sipping Grandfather’s brandy, smoking Grandfather’s cigar. You stand hesitantly in the doorway, paused trying to sneak up the stairs without alerting him. You watch his head shift to the side, eyes glazed and distant. A different record is playing, something jazzier than Grandfather would like. One that had belonged to your parents you suppose. Your heels were clasped in your left hand, dangling by your side. Stockings softly padding across the floor as you crept to the stairwell. You didn’t make it far. 

“Where are you going Kitten?” His eyes were still staring distantly into the fire, cigar butt burned out in the ashtray next to him, brandy drained with the snifter still in his hand. His eyes slowly shifted over to look at you, halfway up the stairs. There was one heartbeat, then two. A chill ran down your spine at his vacant eyes. You bolted.

His quick footsteps could be heard behind you, thundering up the stairs not far from where you were. If you could just get to your room and lock the door you’d be able to avoid him until morning. Fate had other plans. Your smooth stocking hitting the hardwood floor, slipping your feet from beneath you, causing you to land harshly on your tailbone. Charles’ eyes wide and wild, he fell to his knees on either side of your waist, hands coming to grab your wrists. You throw your shoes at him, hitting him in the face, cutting the bridge of his nose. An animalistic growl left his throat, hands coming to grasp your wrists, sitting heavily on your hips to subdue your kicking legs. 

“You were so good for me earlier Kitten, why’d you have to ruin all that now huh?” Spittle landed on your face, his pink tongue coming out to wet his lips as he lay his chest against yours, crushing you with his weight and pinning your wrists to the floor. You opened your mouth to scream, for who, you didn’t know. One of his hands quickly coming to cover your mouth. “He can’t and won’t help you, you know that you stupid bitch.” Heavy breaths from your nose as he held you there on the floor until you both calmed somewhat. His eyes shifted wildly between yours. “Now…” He paused, huffing with annoyance, “Go draw my bath.” 

The bathroom mirror fogged in condensation as the water idled, billowing up steam causing you to slightly perspire in the cotton house dress you were currently wearing. You sat on the lip of the tub, staring at the soft roses painted on the tile that surrounded it. The water shifted as Charles moved beneath it, setting into his seat. A smattering of dark chest hair led to his naval which in turn led to the dark curls surrounding the base of his cock which stood at half mast. 

He was getting off on making you uncomfortable. 

It was the control. The power he had over you simply by being a Blackwood man. He would always come first in your Grandfather’s eyes. Not you who has sacrificed your limited freedom by taking care of him in his old age. Not you who endured years of punishment becoming the ‘perfectly obedient’ girl that you were. Your patience and kindness had not paid off. Every day that passes, Charles becomes closer to Grandfather. And you’re shifted back into place at the bottom rung of the ladder. The fortune, the house, all of it will pass to Charles. And then you’ll be serving him until one of you dies. 

A sick feeling settled into your stomach. Could you really do this for the rest of your life? 

It was one thing to take care of Grandfather. You believed patience, time bided, you would have your freedom eventually. He was old enough that he could go at any time. It wouldn’t have been long before he passed, leaving you as the heir to the fortune and the house where you’d be free to live your life as you see fit. Which would most likely be as a spinster. You’ve thought about taking up gardening, painting maybe, and living the rest of your days in this house on the outskirts of town alone, but free. 

Charles was not part of this plan. 

The charming Blackwood male was more suitable for Grandfather to leave your fortune to, and you with it. 

A wet hand gently, too gently, grasped yours and your eyes reluctantly left their spot on the tile, shifting towards the cause of your distress. His eyes were blue, so blue. If you hadn’t known any better you could fall for those eyes, but you’ve been given a peak at the darkness behind them. That’s all you could see. Something sinister. 

“I’ll take care of you Kitten,” He rasped, bringing the tips of your fingers to his lips, “I promise to always take care of you.” Pressing his lips to the pads of each fingertip, he drug your thumb against his bottom lip softly. “You’ve gotta work with me here. Take care of me and you’ll want for nothing.” He brought your hand to his chest, laying over his heart. “When the old man dies, we can do whatever we want. You can go into town again, we can go further than the town.” He drifted your hand lower, beneath the water. “Paris? Venice? London? Athens? I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” Your fingers found the base of his cock, his hand taking yours to wrap around it. 

“Charles, please.” You begged, your core tightening as he began to jerk himself with your hand. “I just want to leave.” 

He took a rugged breath, “I’m a better man than them Kitten.” You could feel him throb beneath your fingertips, now fully hard, tip growing red. “You’ll be loved by me,” His eyes drifted closed, tightening your hand around his length, speeding up to thrust his hips into your hand. “You’ve never been loved by a man, not like me.” Lips parting to let out soft groans. Your face flushed at the wetness beginning to accumulate between your thighs. It wasn’t long before he let out a groan, spilling his cum into the water, thrusting his hips haphazardly twice more before releasing your hand and draining the tub. “Get my towel.”

…

Grandfather was ill. You called for the doctor, awaiting his house call to examine your Grandfather and determine what ailed him. That being said he was served in his bedroom that day. If this were any other circumstance you’d be hopeful that he’d just die already. Cousin Charles changed things. Currently the only liberties he had taken were making you pleasure him, by mouth or by hand. You feared things would change once Grandfather passes, and you still had no plan as to how to leave this house and survive. 

Your money was given to you as an allowance before. Weekly and a portion set aside for groceries. Since Charles had taken over the grocery order you’ve been given nothing. The money left in your purse wasn’t enough for a decent meal let alone somewhere to stay. You had a sheltered life. You were never expected to work, never taught anything that had to do with working. You could cook somewhere you suppose, but didn’t know where to begin in even looking for a job outside of this town. And if you left you would not be able to stay in this town because Charles would surely bring you back. 

You’ve also never left the 20 mile radius of this house, no clue how to get from one place to the other and were never taught to drive. That shiny red convertible that sat in the gravel drive sat taunting you. Arms crossed as you stared out the front bay window, you waited for the doctor to arrive. He should be here any minute. Charles sat at Grandfather’s bedside. Kissing his wrinkled ass no doubt. You had to figure something out, a way out, and quickly. With more speed than the oncoming death of your Grandfather at the very least. 

“Thank you so much Doctor,” Charles was shaking the thin older gentleman’s hand by the front door. 

“Give me a ring if the illness hasn’t subsided in three days.” The Doctor glanced over at you, then back at Charles who was ushering him out the door. 

“Of course!” And with a wave the good doctor was on the other side of the well oiled front door. 

“What did he say?” You asked. Charles hadn’t let you in the room with him and the doctor. It was indecent he said. 

“Nothing you should worry about Darling.” He said with a smile. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, examining you for a moment before saying, “Shouldn’t you get started on dinner? Perhaps some stew for my Uncle, something soft and easy to eat.” It was unsettling. The way he talked to you sometimes. He frightened you, sure, but he was hot and cold. Darling when he was light, Kitten when he was dark. The pattern. There was something he was keen about. You could tell. 

Grandfather looked a shell of a man, propped up against his pillows, his striped pajamas damp with sweat as you spooned small amounts of stew into his mouth. 

“Lyndon B Johnson won the election.” Charles shifted the newspaper in his hand to show Grandfather the picture. He continued on with the article, explaining the democratic leader and what the electoral college had come out to. Explaining how he felt as though Johnson had only won the election against Goldwater because of Kennedy. You wish you cared more about politics, but honestly you weren’t taught to. It was men’s speak. “Darling?” He called your attention. You gently spooned another mouthful to Grandfather, pausing to shift your eyes over to him,

“Yes?” He thumbed a page of the paper. 

“I think he needs some water.” So go get him some. It sat on the tip of your tongue, but was swallowed. You gently placed the bowl down on the end table and left to go fill the request, returning a few moments later to Charles leaning over your Grandfather and quickly shouting, “He’s not breathing!” Your heart drops in your chest and panic sets in, vision clouding at the edges. “Y/N!” You quickly ran to the phone, hands shaking as you turned the rotary. By the time the Doctor had returned, it was too late. Grandfather had passed. His body was quickly taken from the home by the coroner and you were left in shock, crying, with a wolf. 

There was a silence between you. His hands were stuffed in his dark slacks, eyes trained at the front door seemingly waiting for something. You were sitting in the parlor, direct eyesight from him, watching the flames rage on in the fireplace before you. “What did you do?” You asked, voice thick in fear. Silence, feet shifting until you felt him enter the room. “Did you kill him?” Your eyes slowly met his. You could feel tear tracks on your face, skin tight and puffy from crying. Charles, well, he had a soft smile on his face. Your heart leapt into your throat. 

“He can’t control you anymore Kitten.” 

“No, only you can do that now.” You spat, you stood from the couch, walking around it to put some distance between the two of you. Charles sucked his teeth,

“I told you I’m going to take care of you Kitten, you didn’t need him anymore.” 

“You don’t want to take care of me Charles, you want the money and the house, you want me to-” You couldn’t say it. You were here when he needed to get off. 

“But here’s the thing Kitten,” He chuckled softly, “I was always going to get the money and the house, you… were a bonus.” His teeth caught his lower lip as he stared you down. 

“I’m gonna tell.” Your body trembled, “You’ll be sent to prison.” His gaze darkened on yours. Predator and prey. 

“Now why would you go and say a dumb thing like that?” Why would you go and say something dumb like that? Your core thrummed in response. The silence between you broke as you went to make your escape, running down the hall to the back door of the house, yanking it open and running out into the cold air of the night. You could hear his heavy foot falls behind you as you made it to the treeline before strong arms wrapped around you and threw you to the dirt from behind. You landed harshly on your hip, left shoe slipping off and you could feel your toes dig into the soft dirt beneath you as you tried to stand. He was quick. 

“Get up.” His large hand wrapped around your forearm, dragging you to your feet before he bent over, picking you up over his shoulder before bringing you back into the house, kicking and screaming the whole way. He quickly had you up the stairs and carried you into a room which used to be your parents. A room you hadn’t gone in other than to clean since they had passed. It was a royal bedroom. That’s how you always viewed it anyway. 

The walls were a cream color with an ornate gold pattern, rich dark wood furniture including the four poster bed that held royal blue bedding. The mattress gave way easily when you were thrown upon it. You screamed as he roughly handled you, turning you on your stomach and dragging your hips over his lap, skirt bunching around your waist. His leg came to pin your legs down, the tips of your toes grazing the floor as his hand met the back of your neck. “Shut. Up.” He pushed your face down into the duvet, smothering your cries while his other hand ripped your panties down to where his right leg had yours pinned. 

It was hard to breathe and your adrenaline was slowly waning, bringing you back to where you were. Vulnerable beneath his strong hands. A loud crack against your soft bottom caused you to cry out once more. You were no stranger to a spanking, it was your Father’s favorite method of punishment, but while your Father would give you a standard 10 or 20 depending on your behavior, you had no idea when Charles would stop. 

“This hurts me you know,” His hand met your other cheek with just as much force as the first, “I just want to take care of you Kitten.” Tears streaming down your face as he dealt your punishment, switching from one cheek to the other, marking your ass with a vibrant hot red. It wasn’t long before you felt your clit begin to throb. This thrumming in your core that conflicted with the fear you felt for him. It was terrifying, 

“I’m going to take care of your Kitten, even if it’s by force.” His hand had stilled, gently rubbing your stinging bottom that his hand prints now adorned. His leg loosened just enough to adjust your legs, parting them. You could feel the cool air of the room on the wet junction between your thighs. His thick fingers slipped between your legs, gently touching your folds. “I know what’s best for you.” 

Your face flushed in embarrassment, for the first time in your life fingers other than your own were touching the intimate place that only your husband was supposed to. “Charles don’t.” You begged, hips trying to wiggle yourself out of place. 

“But you’re so wet Kitten,” His fingers dipped between your folds, slowly stroking, finding your entrance and tracing it, before dragging a finger up to your clit. You gasped. “Let me take care of you.” His gentle strokes flushed your body in a way you’ve only done before. This feeling so strange when it’s not by your own hand, you gushed with it, mouth parting to pant into the bed spread, drool pooling beneath you. He applied more pressure as you tried to suppress a moan. You wanted it to stop, but also felt as though you would explode if you didn’t cum. It felt so forbidden, something you never thought would happen, but as your own body betrayed your conscious you wanted more. Charles was happy to oblige.

He let your left leg fall to the floor, spreading his prize open for him as you stopped trying to escape. He was hard as rock knowing he’s the first person to touch you there, his expert fingers spreading you open to look at your glistening heat. A finger dipped into your entrance to the first knuckle, body tensing in fear he shushed you, “Relax.” He said. As if you could. 

He slowly pushed his pointer finger inside you until you could feel it pressed against your walls, searching, curling to rub against the spot he had been looking for that made you audibly moan into the mattress, hands white knuckled, gripping the bed. “That’s it, moan for me Kitten.” He curled his finger against that spot, the hand that had been on your neck left to take its place, bringing a thumb to your ignored clit as he also added a second finger, scissoring them before continuing his assault on the rough spongy patch you didn’t know existed. 

You could feel it building, there was a tightening in your stomach as your toes curled against the floor, you didn’t realize it, but your hips were meeting his hands, pushing back against him wantonly asking for more. And he was happy to give it, fingers working you until your vision went white and your body tensed before moaning loudly with release. It was glorious. Tremors went through your body as he worked you through your orgasm, your body flushed, panting moans as you bucked wildly in his lap as he brought you down. “That’s it,” The aftershocks were wearing off and you were flooded with shame. “Such a good girl Kitten.” He moved you off his lap, walking into the restroom before returning with a bottle of lotion. 

As he began rubbing the lotion onto your sore backside and trying to soothe your tearful face with sweet praise a bubbling began in your gut. A sick feeling of shame and lust. What if he’s right? 

Everyone wants to be loved, and you thought at one point that your Mother must love you, but it was never proven. You’ve never known love. Was this what it is? Charles knew Grandfather had been cruel to you, he knew you wanted him dead, so he did it. Other than the few instances when he’s used you to make himself cum, Charles has never been especially cruel to you. You were conflicted. In the few romance novels you have read, this was not quite how any of them have happened. 

You watched Charles disappear once more, returning with a silk night dress from your bedroom before changing your clothes himself. Your mind still refusing to move your body. He quickly changed into his own pajamas, joining you in bed, shifting the two of you under the covers and clicking the lamp off, curling his body around yours tightly. 

“Go to sleep darling, we have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.” If your eyes were less heavy and limbs less lifeless you would have begun to panic at the thought. Grandfather was dead. There was a funeral to plan, but more importantly, there was a will to read.


End file.
